The air was stale, the white walls enclosing them all like caged animals trapped in isolation. The nations, all full of emotions which only tainted them during the guilt ridden times of war and deprivation, all sat around a white and round table, drinking assorted drinks and trying to find a pinpoint of discussion to begin. All were unstable with the information they believed true, but none knew how to perceive any of it or, at the very least, speak it out to the others. Most of all, the majority looked to England and France, both of whom were sulking in frustration as they played with their coffee and tea.

Finally, England unruffled his eyebrows and looked up to the group, his eyes locking with Canada's.

"Do you remember as well?" His voice was quiet, fearing the reply.

Taken aback, Canada replied. "Remember what?"

"When we came...do you remember when we came?" England looked back down into his tea, focusing on the ripples that formed when he'd tap the side of the mug with his fingernail.

Eyes were focused on Canada who tugged at the color of his shirt, thinking over the question. "I…I don't think so. It was so long ago. However…"

France's eyes widened and his head shot up. "What?"

Canada looked into his lap and rubbed the back of his neck, precariously choosing his words. "I don't really remember in my every day thoughts, however…I dream about stuff like what America's saying. I'll dream of a huge woman with long hair, but she never speaks. I've just brushed it aside, however now-"

He stopped mid-sentence, unsure of how to phrase what his mind brought.

"I think…America's just really sick." He stood up and planted his hands on the table valiantly. "Look, I get he's stolen your things and I get that he's done people wrong, but who here hasn't? Who here is innocent?"

Everyone stared with surprise at the sudden burst of empathy that Canada was showing to America, but none spoke a word.

"I'm done being stuck here, trying to figure out how America did what he did or why he did. I'm tired of treating him like he's the only bad guy here. I'm going to go talk to him since none of you seem to care enough to help him."

Canada stormed out of the room, not even bothering to recognize the two guards saluting him out of the room which they guarded. Everyone remained sitting, not sure if they were to follow and watch the two brothers come face to face or if they should remain and allow time to tell the story. Finally, France slowly stood and patted down his outfit, trying to rid himself of the light wrinkles that formed when he was sitting. He gave no word, but walked out of the room to follow.

France walked through the white corridor, no soul in sight. He turned the corner to be met by a single female guard walking down the hallway, her blue hat covering others sight of her eyes, but still she stopped France short. He fell into an unidentified sweat and, before he realized, he had grabbed the woman's wrist.

She turned to him in a flash, preparing to fight and then disengaged herself when she saw who it was.

"May I help you?" She asked.

He released her, and then fumbled out his words. "I, uh, I'm sorry I thought you were someone I knew."

She gave a nod and took off her hat, revealing long black hair that was put up in a braided bun. She had tanned glowing skin that resonated in such a divine beauty that France nearly felt himself swoon, if it hadn't been for her eyes. They were a deep chestnut brown with tints of what expressed itself as a bursting sun. Those eyes alone revealed that this woman had seen and lived troubles and horrors no man could ever understand.

"You" was all he could spit out.

She was unnerved. " I'm sorry, but I don't believe we've ever met." She took a step to the side and continued on her merry way, her movement's fluid like the wind.

France remained there, standing in the corridor with his mouth agape; it was impossible, but she was just as he'd remembered her. No, he's wrong. It isn't her. He forced that into her mind and went on down the corridor, until-

"RED ALERT RED ALERT SUBJECT 1ALPHA HAS ESCAPED AND IS CURRENTLY DANGEROUS. TAKE CAUTION."

"What?" France looked up to the speaker and then down the corridor where he saw America and Canada running for dear life down the hall, bullets flying and screams echoing through the halls.

France couldn't believe what he was seeing, nor had he the time to for before he knew it, Canada ran aside him with wide yet certain eyes and punched him right in the face, knocking France out cold.

(I don't own Hetalia. However, I would love comments and feedback!)